


of dynasty and steel

by yeehawlesbian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Banking, F/F, Fluff, Goldman Sachs, Loss of Virginity, Romance, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-19 00:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeehawlesbian/pseuds/yeehawlesbian
Summary: The Noble Blacks have thumbs in many pies. A trio of young prodigies cut down corruption and amass noteriety beyond measure. Worlds such as these collide in dangerous ways.





	1. a priori

The year is 1910. 

Marcus Goldman sits at his desk at his Pine Street office in New York with a decision to make in which he must be exceedingly prudent in making. In front of him sits two open manila folders. 

The folder on his left sat the file of Samuel Sachs, his qualified son-in-law and son of his closest associate Joseph Sachs. Samuel was a smart boy with a good head on his shoulders and had proved himself fit enough to marry his daughter. He had yet to prove himself as beyond competent in the fields of investment banking or management but showed great promise. His work with Philip Lehman of the Lehman Brothers firm was barely notable, in Marcus’ opinion. Trading stock was easy - keeping a firm not only afloat, but prosperous, was another matter entirely.

The folder on his right was of Pollux Black, a severe young man of nobility from England with thickly padded pockets. If Marcus Goldman was a native-born American he might have felt some breed of aversion to a foreigner, but being an immigrant himself gave him another perspective entirely. At only twenty five, the Oxford man had proven to be well versed in international financial law time and time again and had attracted the attention of Wall Street. This, along with his ability to keep such a massive estate from the age of nineteen, made him a man of notoriety. A man who had lost both parents at such a young age and yet could not only provide for his two younger sisters but to put himself through Oxford was was nothing short than a mark if singularity. To turn him away from the job would be a crime, but to choose him instead of his family was much too scandalizing.

Goldman was a man who could plan. He was of the ability to strategize and plan and slide gracefully into his amassing fortune. Indecision did not sit well on his tongue.

An idea turned in his head, working itself into something fine like taffy. A conversation he had with the paperboy Jacob Morgan the other day proved to be endlessly fruitful. What many people didn’t realize about young Jacob was that he was an insider to the federal government through his uncle, a member of President Taft’s cabinet. It had seemed that Taft was planning a war on monopolization. It wasn’t going to be a question of if his investment firm would be targeted but rather when.

Samuel Sachs was a loyal man. His sense of duty is what originally turned him onto the young man. Marcus Goldman would diversify his assets and create a holding company of sorts to ensure the longevity of the firm. Samuel would head Sachs Bancorp in which Goldman would funnel money through in to dodge this predicted trust busting. In addition, both young men would receive generous portions of stock. Goldman smiled to himself as his deliberation came to an end.

“Maria.” He raised his accented voice slightly to his secretary in the other room.

“Yes Mr. Goldman?” The plucky young woman asked.

“Send a telegram to the Black residence. We have work to begin!”

Maria nodded and ducked her head out of the room to do just that.

It was decided. Pollux Black would become a full partner.

 

 

Goldman Black & Co. was doing well in the 20th century so far, Pollux decided. His idea in pioneering the use of commercial paper for entrepreneurs had gained him acclaim en masse from the American financial community. He had taken charge after the firm once Marcus, his mentor, stepped down and had his sons take over.

Henry and Ludwig were alike in many ways. They were the hardworking men that their father had shaped them to be and both had incredible talent when it came to working with clientele. They both held themselves in the way that men of innate power did. This was something that Pollux could relate to. Being Lord of the Noble House of Black since his teenage years had left and impression on his very soul that demanded capacity.

They had been accepted into the New York Stock Exchange just this year under his leadership and expanded their capital into $1.6 million. The only worry on his mind was concerning the World War and the growing public animosity towards Germans.

Pollux worried his hand in his oily black hair and sat back in his chair, focusing on the view from his window instead. Goldman Black & Co.’s new headquarters on 200 West St. had proven to put him at ease. It was akin to the greater looking down on his creation, he supposed. The people below scurried around like frightened mice.

Sachs Bancorp had become a strong resource for Goldman Black & Co. Without the forethought of his predecessor, the Clayton Antitrust Act would have proved to be much more of a nuisance. Samuel Sachs was his brother in arms, in combat together against the ever growing power of the United States’ centralized government. It was rewarding work but even still it coincided with risk that needed to be taken into account. Pollux had set up two additional holdings for this very reason. One firm, Bulstrode Holdings, was neatly tucked in the the stable economy of Scotland. Close enough to home where he could carry out his affairs with relatively easy access but kept enough distance to separate the two. The Pure Money Corporation mainly operated in the neutral land of Switzerland but was actually housed in the principality of Liechtenstein. 

Pollux Black would, obviously, remain as Chief Executive Officer in order to keep the company on the right course. He’d be damned if he let the pig headedness of those in his way prevent his success. With luck, the Black family would leave a lasting impact on the economic world.

 

 

“Mr. Castings, I’m truly sorry, but I cannot justify accepting anything other than cash or property.”

John Castings paced worriedly in Pollux Black’s office, stroking his cropped beard. 

“Lord Black,” he said in a meek voice, stumbling over his words, “I had thought the acquisition of J. G. Castings and Co. would suffice in our deal.”

Here was the dilemma in which Pollux Black found himself - a major economic crash, spiraling massively out of control, had caused the entirety of American society to economically collapse. John Castings just so happened to come into a great deal of debt with Goldman Black & Co. Another matter that was decidedly more pressing was the amount of legal trouble Mister Castings had found himself in. This was to say that John Castings main vocation was in direct violation of the 18th Amendment. 

It wasn’t as if Castings was a particularly dull man and it was for this reason that he had come to Lord Black because of his financial capabilities and easily exercised discretion.

Pollux reclined back in his study chair and ran his fingers over the shaft of his pen in thought. John Castings stood behind the seat in front of his with both hands gripped on it’s back.

“Do you want a solution?”

The way he said it made it clear that it wasn’t a question. John nodded eagerly.

“Alright, here’s your solution.” Pollux Black accents ‘here’ by sharply hitting his pen on the dark walnut of his desk. “J. G. Castings and Co. will consign all holdings owned by both you and your brother, Henry Castings, into my personal accounts. Goldman Black & Co. will then buy out J. G. Castings and Co., which will hold you over financially until you can secure another firm as your status will remain intact.”

John nodded in thought.

“Additionally,” Pollux added, “any firm or business either you or your brother undertake shall be funded by Goldman Black & Co. in return for,” he paused, giving the man in front of him a pointed look, “shall we say, more favorable deals.”

John Castings more than understood the word choice. Explicitly talking about any illicit activities was an act of incrimination in itself. John couldn’t argue with Lord Black’s conditions, no matter how steep. He was a criminal in need of asylum and security that few could provide under the new administration.

John slips his finger under his collar to hair his sweat - slickened skin. “You sure are taking a lot from me, pal.”

He realizes his mistake as soon as the utterance finishes. Anger flashes in Pollux’s eyes and he leans over the desk like a lion over a fresh kill.

“That is Lord Pollux Oberon Black, sir, and you should be so lucky that I allowed your filthy, debt addled presence into my personal study and presented you with such favorable circumstances.”

John refuses to make eye contact with him. Pollux scoffs and eyes him appraisingly.

“You truly are a coward, John. I expect my conditions to be met within the next week.”

Pollux’s attention is return to the stack of papers on his desk, effectively ending the conversation. John leaves with the knowledge that Pollux Black held his very livelihood within his iron clasp.

 

 

He was attending a soirée at the Vanderbilt mansion, disdain hidden by two fingers of High West whiskey. The Morgan’s had once again proven themselves to be unfit for anything other than politics. It seemed that Americans would elect anyone.

The Victor Orchestra played triumphantly from the gilded phonograph in the corner of the room. Women in jewel tone gowns flitted across the large ball room with black suited shadows trailing behind them. If they were able to convey anything other than hunger Pollux might actually give them the time of day.

Frankly, Pollux didn’t see a reason for any on these elaborate functions.

It was at this moment Pollux Black’s sharp gaze met the deep maple eyes of Alice Louisa Vanderbilt from across the room. She was a woman of a strong upbringing that he had met on several occasions, all of which proved her to be exceeding pleasant company. The alluring heiress’ doe eyes looked at him, as if searching for something. She slowly turned her head to the side and left the room and onto a balcony. The accomplished investor saw no other option but to follow her.

The young woman stood serenely, looking out at the landscaped grounds of her family’s Westchester estate. She held a flute of Prosecco delicately in her left hand. The cool summer breeze had tousled her hair somewhat, loosening her dark curls from their original position.

“Lovely night.” His rough voice sliced through the night air like a sharpened sword. Alice Vanderbilt hummed in response and sipped her sparkling wine. Pollux mirrored the action.

He stepped forward to stand by her side, hands resting his weight on the balcony with all of the elegance and class he could muster.

“I must admit,” Alice began softly, “I am extremely glad to see you at yet another of my father’s events, Lord Black.”

Pollux was little more than ensnared by both her words and demeanor. He had yet to come across a woman of any intrigue or sophistication and had resigned to living out his days as a bachelor, his youngest nephew taking up the familial estate instead of any heir of his own, and was thusly both surprised and encouraged by Alice Vanderbilt, a woman who he shared much in common with. Both were heirs of large fortunes and irredeemably tied to the voracious world of industry. It would have been a feat most extraordinary for them to not become familiar with one another.

“It would hardly be prudent of me to disregard an opportunity.” He said. His words spoke to both his firms’ dealings and his social standing. The look on Alice Vanderbilt’s face (from what he could see from her dimly lit profile) showed her understanding.

“It would be more prudent of me to warn you, Lord Black, than many an unkept woman seek to win your favor tonight.” There was a lilt to her voice and a small, knowing smile.

“Oh really, Miss Vanderbilt? Whatever do you suppose for?” Pollux flashed a smile. He thoroughly enjoyed teasing the young woman. 

Alice laughed, truly laughed, and turned to face him, hip pressed against the stone balcony rail. The full moon backlit her dark emerald dress and gave it an almost ethereal glow which only served to accentuate her beauty.

“Goodness, they really are simple, aren’t they?”

“I suppose so.” He chuckled.

The two sat comfortably in the intimate silence between them, content with watching the party inside continue on. Pollux brushed his pant pocket in search of a small object and smiled to himself after feeling it.

“I had spoken to your father this morning.” Pollux said.

Alice tilted her head slightly in confusion, similar to how her father did in meetings. “Is a certain someone investing in the railroad company?”

Pollux Black took the small object from his pant pocket and held it in his hand, out of sight. He left his glass of whiskey on the ledge of the railing. “In a way.”

Alice’s confusion was instantly forgotten as Pollux dropped to his right knee in front of her while brandishing one of the Black family rings. “Alice Louisa Vanderbilt, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The young woman smiled, ever graceful, and allowed her now — fiancé to slide the black banded diamond ring onto her finger.

“I do.”

It was, in this holy moment, that Pollux Black understood the importance of these elaborate functions.

 

 

“You did an excellent job on your paper, Cygnus.”

Alice Louisa Vanderbilt - Black was reading her eldest son’s analysis on the current state of affairs after the stock market crash — only a few years ago. At only sixteen years old he had managed to show a head for economics that she had only previously seen in well seasoned accountants and bankers.

Cygnus Black III beamed at his mother’s approval.

Alphard Black, a boy of thirteen years, sat quietly at the breakfast table next to his older sister Walburga. His sister sat primly with a slice of marmalade laden toast in one hand and a biography of Adam Smith in the other.

“You may want to work on the title with either your brother or sister.” Cygnus’ mother said after taking a sip of her coffee. “An eye catching hook may do you some good as well.”

Cygnus nodded and, taking his rough draft, started writing notes within the margins with his fountain pen as he hungrily ate the bacon in front of him.

Pollux Black, now an older man, walked into the dining hall of his family’s estate in slight hurry. After their marriage, the new Black couple had decided to build an exceedingly ornate mansion in New York to spend their summers. Otherwise, they’d stay either in Knocknalling manor at Dumfries or in Highgate outside of London. Pollux Black quite preferred the estate in New York. Closer to commerce, Pollux had said. It proved valuable as he salvaged his companies from the economic crash of the late twenties. 

He kissed Alice in farewell on the cheek and looked over Cygnus’ shoulder, reading his paper. He pat his heir on the back. “That’s my boy.”

He then looks over his daughter’s shoulder. She was a voracious reader and could one day prove to be an excellent legal and economic advisor. Approving of her choice in material he kissed her lightly on the top of her curly head.

And then there was Alphard. His youngest son was better suited for sports than anything else. He didn’t approve of sports as a long - time investment, but it would provide opportunities for college. He clapped his hand over his shoulder. “Make sure to get some football practice in today, son.”

With that, Pollux was off. He was going to have to read over the New Deal and what it would entail for the future of both his holdings and his family.

 

 

The mailman came promptly at eight o’ clock very Friday morning. The two boys raced across the vibrant grounds of their childhood home. Passing mighty oaks and fields of wildflowers they ran to the mailbox in their black spring breeches, following the paved motorcar path til it melted into the main road.

Alphard reached the box first, laughing at his brother as the latter slowed to a trot. Cygnus grabbed the bronze mailbox key from his pocket and deftly opened it. Three letters were atop of a brown paper parcel secured with black and gold twine, all addressed to him.

The package was from his aunt and about the size of a large tome. The three letters were from three universities. Oxford, Cambridge, and the University of Edinburgh.

Cygnus met his brothers eyes with a grin. Alphard shoved his brothers shoulder and ran off back to the large white mansion, a speck on the horizon.

The two came tumbling in to the monochromatic marble halls with laughter. It was then that they were verbally confronted by their mother who was making her way to them from the staircase.

“Now what has my two sons howling like a couple of baboons in my house?” Her American accent was easy to identify in the British household, even if Walburga sounded more and more like her.

“Cygnus has mail!”

The Black matriarch approached them and took the letters from her eldest’s hand. Her eyebrows meet her hairline in evaluation.

“Come.”

The brothers didn’t need to be told twice as their mother lead them to their father’s office. Alphard glanced over to Cygnus, who could see him from the corner of his eye, but his expression remained unreadable.

“Cygnus, come look at this.” Their mother whisked behind the study desk and stood behind her husband’s shoulder.

It only took a moment before Pollux read the letters.

“My son is going to Oxford!” He exclaimed. Cygnus preened at the excitement in his father’s booming voice.

He stood and clapped his son on the back. Alphard stood at the door, his muscular shoulders drooping in the shadows.

When Cygnus opened the package in the wee hours of the day, he found within it a large book on family history an a signet ring. He slipped it onto his right ring finger and became a man.

 

 

Oxford’s campus was one of the most beautiful things Cygnus had ever seen. Of course, he could have been partial given that his family had donated money to the college since it’s inception, but it was subjectively gorgeous as the spring aged into autumn.

He was so taken with the foliage that he didn’t notice the woman in front of him until they had both collapsed onto the stone path.

“Ah, Quelle chance!” The woman on top of him grunted in indignation as she tried to right herself. She wore a crisp white blouse with a high collar and a long black skirt and looked quite sharp in both.

“Here, allow me.” Cygnus did his best to unravel the snarled knot of limbs and books they had become. He read one of the book’s authors.

“Edgar Rice Burroughs?”

“Oui.” The girl says as she sits on her heels, gathering herself. Her black tresses swept elegantly over the shoulder of her crisp white blouse.

“I don’t suppose he’s the author you should be learning English from.” He said with a smile. 

She huffed in indignation. Cygnus stands up and helps the woman to her feet. “Allow me to introduce myself, miss. Cygnus the Third, of the Noble House of Black.” A curious expression crossed over her face as she extended her hand. Instead of shaking her hand, Cygnus kisses it. “Enchanté, Miss...?”

“Rosier.”

Surprised quirked his brow. 

“Ah, you must be studying law, then.” The Rosiers were a widely known family that had come into the public eye as a powerful clan of skilled lawyers and debators from the south of France. Many of the great Western European orators had their roots in the Rosier house by either blood or tutelage.

“Just as you must be an investment banker.”

He laughed and handed the young woman her books. “With an emphasis on just.”

She eyed the young sir for a moment. She was searching for something in Cygnus, and, as she seemingly found it, spoke once again.

“I take my lunch in Oberon Hall promptly every day at one in the afternoon.”

Druella was off after that, letting Cygnus practically drool over himself as he watched her lavish flourish of skirts ruffle past him.

 

 

Cygnus Black III had just arrived to his family’s estate in Highgate with his fiancée, Druella Rosier, and his sister Walburga. They had just finished their final and second years at Oxford, respectively, and had been driven by the family chauffeur from the university to the mansion.

Druella was a young woman who, while not apart of the world of investment, had a long lineage of lawyers and legal associates in her family. She was a legal advisor of incredible astuteness and was sure to make his aging father proud. With her law degree completed, she was ready to enter the workforce as a knowledgeable resource. She wore an elegant black lace dress in the latest European style, equally dark curls tied gracefully atop her head.

Walburga has received honors at Oxford in an interesting new major known as Land Economics. It was law and economics, with aspects of the environment, business finance, and resource management. Father had strongly agreed with her course selection, saying it was a ‘sensible decision’. 

Cygnus had finally completed his degree in Economics and Management. He had graduated as valedictorian and was his father’s absolute favorite trophy on his shelf of excellence. His only failing was a ninety two in astronomy, for which he was properly admonished for by both of his parents.

He opened the front door for his two companions and followed them inside with Druella’s snakeskin suitcase in hand.

“Father, how good it is to see you.” Cygnus greeted enthusiastically once he caught sight of the Black patriarch.

Pollux Black folded his newspaper and stood to greet the young group, patting down his black searsucker suit. 

“Ah, Miss Rosier, how pleasant of you to join us for the summer holidays.” He smiled warmly.

The young woman smiled and ducked her head demurely.

“Now,” He begins, “what’s this I hear of my only daughter receiving honors in all of her classes?”

Walburga perks up and instantly recounts her academic achievements of the school year. Cygnus takes his fiancée’s ringed hand in his own and leans in close to her ear.

“Not the end of the world, meeting the in-laws, is it?” He shoots her a sly smile as she chuckles softly into her free hand.

Alphard comes running into the room with a crimson envelope in his hands. He’s wearing the grass stained blue and yellow rugby uniform of Cygnus’ old (and his brother’s current) preparatory school. His forehead is dotted with perspiration and there seems to be... mud in his hair. Delightful.

“Cygnus!” Alphard pulls Cygnus into a tight embrace. The latter laughs and tries not to think about the fate of his cream colored linen suit.

“Do I have news for you!”

“Alphard, you sound more and more American by the day.”

His brother pushes him on the shoulder and laughs.

“I’ve gotten a full football scholarship to Harvard! Isn’t that great, father?”

Pollux’s lips pressed into a hard line. It seemed that their father hadn’t felt quite the same. The air in the room changed drastically from the warm and open environment it used to be. A different kind of heat flooded the air. It the danger of a roaring fire behind a door.

“And what of Oxford?”

Alphard shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. His gaze was focused on the bookshelves behind their father.

“I was put on the waiting list.” His voice was clear yet completely defeated.

The crack of skin against skin was the only sound to be heard in the house. Druella’s grip on his hand tightened with ungodly shock and didn’t cease until his father stormed off to his study. Alphard retreated to his room with his tail between his legs. Cygnus looked over to his sister, who was worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth.

“Come, let’s take a walk in the gardens.” Anything to get out. Cygnus vowed to himself, then and there, that he would never hit his children.

 

 

Druella’s curls fanned out against the silk pillowcase. She nimbly traced delicate patterns onto her husband’s chest. They were in one of the family’s summer homes, a private island off the coast of mainland Greece, on their honeymoon.

“And what of a family?”

“What of them?” Cygnus asked.

“Where shall our home be, mon loup. To raise our heirs.”

Cygnus thought for a moment.

“Well,” he started, “the estate outside of London is quite fit for a family such as ours.”

Druella hummed. “But what of Black Manor?”

“We can split our time. Why are you so worried about this?”

Concern shone through Cygnus’ young face, weakness admonished previously by his father.

“Oh, just curious.”

She went back to her previous ministrations.


	2. alecta iacta est

The heir of the House of Black was born on May 20th, 1968, in the small dark hours of a particularly cold morning. She was to be named Bellatrix, first of her name. Not because of what she must be or what she must do but because of the way she came into the world.

Druella Black’s labor lasted hours. When her eldest daughter finally burst free of her she was leashed by a sickly nuchal cord and screaming for life. Luckily, no expense had been spared. Cygnus was a man who treated both his family and assets with the utmost care - cautious and prudent like his father. Doulas and doctors crowded his exhausted wife as he let her crush the fingers in his left hand. She pressed her sweaty brow against her husband’s arm and panted.

One doctor, a young, clean shaven man, held his daughter up to them with an unexpected reverence.

Cygnus took the creature from the man’s hands. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Black smatterings of hair atop of her head marked her as a Black. Her tiny fists flawed in empty air and her cries rang through the halls of the manor. A fighter indeed.

Gently, he laid the young spitfire in her mother’s arms. Within a moment Bellatrix quieted in Druella’s embrace.

The sun rose from it’s eastern summit and painted the sky in worm tones. One by one the stars in the sky faded into the colors.

 

 

“Do be careful, Bellatrix.”

“Yes, mother.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes and held her younger sister more securely in her arms. Narcissa, barely a toddler, cooed and reached for Bellatrix’s tightly wound curls. Instead of letting her play with them, she fixed her baby sister’s lily white dress and tried to corral her other much more mobile sibling.

“Andy!” She hissed it under her breath.

Andromeda Cassiopia Alice Black hadn’t the sense of propriety quite like her elder sister. If she could join her school friends and run in her drawers chasing a ball, she would. Bellatrix grasped her forearm and pulled her beside her just as a servant rushed past.

“Stay by me.”

And, to her surprise, she did.

Bellatrix allowed herself to fuss over Andromeda’s appearance. Her dark plum gown had settled elegantly in it’s cascading ruffles. She smoothed Andy’s deep brown curls out of her matching eyes. The girl was only about five, and Bellatrix, having just turned seven, had been deemed leader of the pack with her status as eldest child.

They were to stay at their Grandparents’ estate in Dumfries for two weeks. Their parents had business to attend to abroad and as none of them were considered old enough to tend to themselves, they would stay at Knocknalling with their two cousins Regulus and Sirius.

Bellatrix weaved through the rushing servants with both of her younger sisters in tow. She wore a green gown similar to her sister in casualty and convention and it bustled around her in protest to her sharp moments. Andromeda was chirping questions left and right behind her as usual. She had learned to ignore them.

Their mother stood decorously in the foyer of the family home. Bellatrix never understood why exactly her mother was so insistent on staying in Black Manor when there were other estates closer to their prep school, but the elegance of it was undeniable. Meticulously painted and carved ceilings hung over ornate fireplaces, glossy dark wooden walls, and marble floors draped with the most intricate rugs. Sometimes, it felt to her like the halls were too hallowed for her. Then again, she was a Black, and the assurance of her name was enough to quell any fear or doubt.

“Ah, there you are.” Their mother greeted them warmly, ushering them quickly out of the house and into their father’s black Maserati Quattroporte.

“Ready to go?” He asks their mother, who nods. Bellatrix tightened her grip on her youngest sister who dozed off as soon as the car started.

The trip to the Scottish countryside stretched with the leisure of molasses. Her father spoke to her mother about a new account that his firm had required and she couldn’t help but listen in. Andromeda shifted side to side with energy barely contained. Bellatrix was perfectly content with watching the homes they passed. She especially liked counting the sheep they passed grazing on the wide expanses of farm land. 

They arrived at the steel gates of Knocknalling in the evening. Rolling green fields spread in the many acres surrounding the great manor and the trees behind it’s large stature shone with bright moonlight. The car bumped along the stone paved path. 

Her father parked the car behind another, large and red with a white top. Bellatrix stood outside of the car with her sisters as her father pulled their trunks out of the back of the Maserati.

A woman burst through the grand doors of the estate. Aunt Walburga quickly wrapped her arms around the three girls. The intimidating woman had the tendency to dote on her nieces with an intensity that only multiplied with time. Bellatrix thought that it was because she only had sons, one of which who was considerably lacking in intelligence.

“Oh, dearies.” Their aunt murmured lovingly while herding them through the imposing doors.

 

 

Bellatrix sat neatly in her Sunday best between her mother and Andromeda after putting Narcissa to sleep. Only three, the young girl still needed plenty of rest after long days traveling. Her grandparents had the kitchen staff make her favorite: roast chicken breast with rosemary potatoes. She savored every single bite.

There was, however, a less satisfactory dish at the table that she had to digest all the same. Her younger cousin by a year, Sirius, sat across from her making faces. His brother Regulus sat next to him looking entirely too exhausted with his brother’s antics.

“Bellatrix,” her grandfather started, “how are your studies so far?”

“School is going well,” she replied, looking up at the graying man at the head of the table.

“She’s being modest,” her father interjects, “she’s smarter than I was at her age.”

Her grandmother, a woman with an air of high regality, smiled appreciatively at her.

“And you, Regulus?”

“I’ve done well, grandfather. Top marks.”

The old man grinned and sipped from a dark red glass of wine. Bellatrix cut her chicken into smaller and smaller pieces.

 

 

Narcissa had awoken that night, her cries echoing in the resonant halls.

Bellatrix had gotten to the weeping child within two minutes of hearing her fearful wails. She sat in the doorway of the room with her sister fixed safely in her arms. It took another five minutes for Andromeda to come knocking about the house. She found her perch in Bellatrix’s side.

Narcissa didn’t talk much for her age. She understood what was being said to her, but preferred not to speak. That was what Bellatrix thought, anyways.

Soon it became evident that they weren’t the only ones who had awoken.

Their two cousins came to see them halfway in the hallway. The pair were clad in black summer linens. The older of the two stood above Bellatrix, trying to chase sleep away from his eyes.

“Y’all’right?” Regulus asked. Apparently, a drowsy boy of her age was unable to speak in words. Bellatrix uttered a low reassurance to placate both Regulus and Narcissa, the latter of which drifting off already.

“I don’t get why she’s here.” Bellatrix hears her younger cousin mutter disdainfully. She steeled herself and cut him with the sharpest of glares. Her instinctual nature was that of her father which had innately and effortlessly given her the intimidation of a Siberian tiger. 

“What?” Bellatrix asked. It wasn’t a question, though, despite its context. It was a demand.

“Well, she ain’t really a Black, is she?” Sirius started, confidence growing in Bellatrix’s silence. “Look at her hair, Trixie - she ain’t like the rest of us. Andy,” he rustled the girl’s hair, briefly, making her giggle sleepily, “has brown hair like grandmother, but Narcissa is blonde!”

Regulus put a hand on his brother’s shoulder in an effort to anchor him. Sirius continued on.

“Even her name is different. She’s a flower,” Sirius scoffed, “and you know grandfather don’t care for weak things like flowers.”

Bellatrix fumed, face tightening into a vicious snarl. 

“How dare-“

“How dare you insult a Black, young man.”

Their grandfather stood in front of the five young heirs, fit and pristine as if he were leaving for work in the morning. His clean - shaven face held a sly expression but his eyes held a severe glint that she recognized from her father.

“In fact, Narcissa Astrea Black has more claim to Head of House then either you or your brother.”

Sirius balked.

“Reg’ is the oldest guy in our group! He should be Head when Uncle Cygnus passes.”

Their grandfather took a seat in the chair next to him in the hallway.

“Sirius, I am sorry to say that you are least likely to inherit the full lengths of power in which I wield.” He looked down his nose at the deflating boy in front of him. “My son, Cygnus, is my heir, this is true, but his heir is Bellatrix. It was decided long ago by men far wiser than you or I.” His eye held the twinkle of a man who had seen great hardship, reminiscing on an easier time.

Bellatrix’s face lit up, alight with the passion of power and familial tradition and anything else her pounding heart could grasp. Sirius’ faced scrunched up. “But she’s a girl.”

Regulus knocked his brother on his shoulder in acknowledgment.

“She is also the brightest out of the lot of you.”

Bellatrix couldn’t help the smile that nearly split her face in two. Her grandfather stood, patted her shoulder, and left to his quarters.

Sirius drifted back to his room with his tail between his legs. Andromeda soon left to hers as well.

Regulus spoke, softly. “Would you like me to help?” 

She thought for a moment and nodded, letting him take Narcissa in his hands (“Make sure you hold her right.”) so that she could get up from the floor. Bellatrix knew what it was - an apology, not in the form of groveling, but in an act of respect. Regulus met her gaze and saw what it was, the bond that tied them together stronger than any metal cable or golden lasso.

After her cousin said his goodbyes, Bellatrix slept in the rocking chair in the corner of Narcissa's room, just for that night, keeping her watchful eye on her sister.

 

 

Bellatrix woke to the soft drizzle of rain outside her window. The grey morning hues lit her bedroom with a gentle glow. She yawned once, loud and powerful, and gathered her stretched out limbs on the bed.

After brushing out her hair she fussed with one of her more casual black dresses. Per her mother’s specifications it had been tailored with a structured bodice. Truthfully, she hated the thing. It made her torso ache after long hours wearing it. 

She finished dressing and left the room, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. This, she thought, was punishment to the rest of the sleeping occupants of the house for not rising with the sun. As her father had told her time and time again, early risers were early closers.

Two loud thuds on Andromeda’s door to wake her up. Her signature snoring abruptly cut off and Bellatrix smiled, having succeeded. 

It was much later in the morning when the children had gathered in the family’s library. From lunchtime to the late afternoon, the Blacks were educated by a private tutor. It was the smartest decision, she told herself, an echo of her father.

Bellatrix sat herself next to Regulus. The two of them were able to work more than efficiently with each other, which didn’t come as much of a surprise to her. Andromeda and Sirius were still a touch too rambunctious to work on their arithmetic with any organization and while Sirius tried his best, Andromeda had started drawing on her work instead. She decided not to mention it - it was only summer, after all.

 

 

“God, look at them all.”

“We give need based scholarships? Here?” Bellatrix rolled her eyes, “To think we had standards.”

Regulus snickered next to her. They sat on a shady stone ledge in the courtyard, eyes trained on a group of young teens in worn uniforms in the way predators eyed a flock of sheep. Bella stretched herself out on the cool cobbles, similar to cat, while her cousin reclined against the wall.

A redheaded girl about Bellatrix’s age walked down the hall, her outdated uniform practically screaming unworthiness. She kept head down. It didn’t help.

“Oi, filth.” He barked.

The two kids leapt from their perches and circled the girl. Hungry wolves meet scared prey. It’s easy. It’s nature. 

“Where’dya think you’re goin’?” Bellatrix smiles, hungry. 

The ginger says nothing.

Regulus steped closer. His smile is sharp, all teeth. Feral.

“Watch it, Black.” 

Two boys from Regulus’ class step between them. They’ve got the same red hair as the girl.

“Prewett.” Regulus spat it out with utter disgust.

Gideon and Fabian Prewett were lean, skinny things, with legs like stilts. Gideon (the nastier of the two, in Bellatrix’s opinion) had shaggy, sweat soaked hair that curtained his eyes. Fabian’s hair was cropped close to his scalp, revealing tightly knit brows. They all shared two characteristics - red hair and svelte muscle.

“We were just having a nice chat,” Bellatrix says, casually, “weren’t we, girl?”

The ginger girl remains stone. Fabian looked worriedly at his sister. Gideon kept his eyes trained up on Regulus.

“Run along now, boys.” Bellatrix says with great flourish, her hands dramatically outstretched to the empty corridor.

Gideon turned his attention to Bellatrix. He huffs, once, and storms off with his sister’s hand clamped in his own, Fabian following closely behind him. The younger of the two boys looks as if he’s about to say something but his mouth is closed as fast as it opens after meeting the glares of the two dark teens.

Regulus glares at their backs, then looks down at his younger cousin in confusion. She laughs.

 

 

She was settled across from her father in his study looking over old financial records, some dating back to 1882.

“Now, what do you see?”

Bellatrix scans the fading documents in her hands.

“A mess.” She decides.

Her father chuckled heartily. “That aside,”

She took a closer look at the ledger. It was for the sale of a set of properties in northern Connecticut.

“It isn’t being taxed. It’s zoned as a non - profit?” 

“Take a look at the organization’s transaction log,” her father instructs, “See the whole picture.”

Bellatrix looked at the banking ledgers of the organization. Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead.

“They’re completely out of line for their jurisdiction!”

“And how would you solve it? Discreetly?”

This was her test, Bellatrix realized. To show her skill to her father.

“Well,” she starts “I would dissolve the firm into a couple subsidiaries. This company,” Bellatrix pointed at an emboldened name mentioned once at the top of the first page. “Is already a holding company. If Blackstone were to become a group of subsidiaries, their monopolization on the real estate in Connecticut would be less prominent.”

To say her father was beaming would be an understatement. He opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a small, black velvet box. Her heart thuds in her chest an the ancient beat of (worth desire destiny something powerful and red) excitement because she knows what it is. 

Bellatrix opened the ring box. Inside laid a custom golden signet ring with the black coat of arms. She slid it onto her right ring finger and looked up at her father in with wide, devout eyes.

 

 

The three sisters sat at the breakfast table on a bright Thursday morning. Bellatrix sipped her morning coffee (modest with cream, no sugar) and fervently scribbled some notes down in the margins of her copy of Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand.

Andromeda drummed her fingers against the table’s wooden surface. Her cassette player sat snugly on her belt and her headphones buzzed over her ears. She ate toast sloppily coated in amber marmalade.

Narcissa sat next to Bellatrix, reading over her shoulder. The young teen drank her tea in time with her older sister.

Dark golden drops dribbled down Andromeda’s chin.

“Graceful.” Narcissa said, scowling behind Bellatrix’s tangled mane.

“Oh, don’t I know it.” Andromeda grinned easily.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and wiped her sister’s chin. Andromeda took advantage of the moment and licked her hand as it passed under her mouth. The eldest sister squawked in indignation and before she could retaliate, Andy had absconded out the kitchen cackling, headphones and all.

Narcissa was giggling next to her. 

“It’s not funny, Cissy.” She said, pretending it wasn’t funny.

The blonde laughed harder, nearly spilling her tea. 

 

 

“…all of these facts point conclusively to the fact that solitary confinement is completely detrimental not only to those subjected to it but to those who must administer it as well.”

The buzzer sounds just as Bellatrix finishes her final rebuttal. She straightens her school blazer and raises her chin imperiously, eyes challenging.

Judges huddled in hushed voices, briefly, before nodding to the announcer.

“Hogwarts Preparatory School of Exemplary Education has won the debate!”

The auditorium thundered in applause, save for one particularly loud Andromeda Cassiopeia Black, whooping and whistling in the front row.

Bellatrix was lifted atop the shoulders of Fenrir Greyback, a brutish boy who was brought onto the debate team for his intimidating appearance alone. He howled in delight and she did her best to hold on to his massive shoulders, laughing the whole time.

 

 

“Come on Bella, just this once.” The brunette pleaded.

“Absolutely not.”

Andromeda yanked at her sister’s black coat, her own leather one hung off of her and clanged around the two.

“Oh, come on, Bella!” Andy exclaimed. “It’s just a party, loosen up, you ell seven. It’ll be straight out of the fridge!”

Bellatrix groaned. “No wonder you’re a B student, was that even English?”

“Bella, seriously, even Narcissa wants to go!”

“That’s only because that blonde twat will be there. No, I’m not driving either of you there, much less attending such a putrid event myself, and that’s final.”

Hours later, Bellatrix pulled her sleek Lincoln Mark VII in the driveway of the Lestrange estate promptly at seven in the evening with her two squealing sisters in tow. She tossed the keys to the valet, who fumbled before catching them. She huffed and rolled her eyes, smoothing out her crackling black velvet dress.

“We’re only staying two hours. If either of you come home impregnated I’m slaughtering half the countryside.”

Narcissa patted her sister on the back with a solemn look. “And we don’t doubt you for a second, Bella.”

Andromeda and Narcissa looked at each other for a moment before bursting out in laughter that echoed along in the night. She rolled her eyes for the second time that night and got the sense that’d there’d be more opportunities to do so that night.

“Welcome, ladies.” A dapper Rabastan Lestrange, clad in a colorful suit of the modern trend, greeted the the three sisters with a slick smile and wink. “Please, let me.”

The grease coated weasel leads them into the main hall of the manor. Many familiar faces are present, including the debate team. Bellatrix longed to talk to Antonin Dolohov about Mikhail Gorbachev’s new polices. Rabastan disappeared into the crowd, presumably to find some more pliant guests.

Andromeda runs off with a chestnut haired boy and Narcissa, predictably, was already in a heated discussion with Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix looked at the loud crowd enjoying their rowdy fete and felt out of place. Bellatrix Black was a young woman who deserved elegance of the highest caliber, not a lousy teen snog fest. 

Regulus, unsurprisingly, was among the masses of adolescents in attendance, dragging his brother away from some American businessman’s daughter and throwing him back to his gaggle of mates. She threw him a smile. The young man mimed shooting himself in the head. Nothing had changed there, at least.

She found herself in the Lestrange family library. In her hands was a red leather bound scientific journal documenting societal development after the industrial revolution. Bellatrix, in fact, was so rapt with the book that she failed to notice the other person in the room.

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Bellatrix jumped and closed the book with a snap. Rodolphus Lestrange laughed and put his hands up as she relaxed, slightly.

“I suppose it is.”

“Suppose?” He scoffed, “Please, I have eyes, you know.”

Rodolphus unbuttoned his blazer to sit down next to her. He produced a different journal from the same author, this one bound in deep blue fabric and lettered in gold.

“This is his follow up work. Sociological differences of the Eastern and Western hemispheres.”

“I’m well aware,” she said with her chin up, “it’s on Oxford’s reading list.”

“But who’s offering you a first edition with handwritten notes from the author?”

Bellatrix eyed the book, skeptically. “How would you even have that?”

“My uncle wrote it.”

She was surprised at that and let the book be placed in her hands. She turned the cover to see a rather colorful and frankly unflattering drawing of the Oxford admissions board.

Bellatrix laughed, truly laughed, and finally she felt as if she had found a place for herself outside of the confines of her last name.

 

 

Andromeda was crying on Bellatix’s lap with a pregnancy test in her hand. 

Two lines.

Positive.

Bellatrix stroked her sister’s back soothingly

“God, Bella,” she gasped, muffled in the older girl’s skirt “what am I gonna do?”

And the was Bellatrix’s job, really. To be able to plan for her family. To protect them from harm. With her teenage sister crying in her arms the urge to care for her had never felt quite as strong and her instincts cried in her echoing, busied mind.

“Father will disown you, Andy.”

With that, the younger girl sobbed violently into her sister. Bellatrix weaved her hands into Andromeda’s loose brown curls, a habit she had picked up in her early childhood.

“Once he’s gone, I’ll reinstate you and your child as proper Blacks. Even Ted, if you like.”

Andromeda starts calming down.

“I won’t lie to you and say it’ll be easy, but I’ll be there right beside you. I’ll buy you an apartment in London. Make something of yourself, please,” Bellatrix tightened her grip on her sister’s hand, “and come back to me.”

They hug each other for a long time after that, knowing what the future had in store.

 

 

It was a quarter past three in the afternoon at the shooting range.

Bellatrix wore her engagement ring proudly on her left ring finger, polished and ready for the next installment of her life. The bright sky sung with honey sweet songs of love and joy.

“Ready to head out?” Rodolphus’s voice boomed. He wore stone colored shorts, a black rugby polo, and a Benelli M3 (French military issue) smartly against his left shoulder. Bellatrix took his right arm and they walked to the lush shooting range, engrossed in conversation about the effects of the Chernobyl nuclear meltdown, a fairly recent event.

Rodolphus talked with his brother Rabastan and his good friend Corban Yaxley. Rabastan held his grandfather’s gun from the first world war, buzzing in anticipation. Bellatrix had only seen the rusted weapon once before. Her betrothed, Rodolphus, had fired it in front of her on their first outing to the range.

Bellatrix sat down at the umbrella - shaded white table about twenty metres away from the shooting line while still on the beautifully bright lawn. She flagged one of the bus boys down from the staff cabana for a bottle of Pinot Grigio, happily reclined in the white wicker chair. 

Rabastan joked around with his brother quite often. It’s what military academies such as the one the Lestrange brothers attended were bound to breed, in her mind. The sort of youthful, fraternal bonds that stood undistorted from time in the way that so many other young lives became warped. She herself was privy to the types of relationships that a strict household could forge and she wore those silver chains of sisterhood proudly on her person. 

Seeing the brothers rough house made her heart sing in elation and look to the future. Would her sons look like that, grow into young wolves biting each others’ scruff in preparation for the world? Would they look like their strong willed, intelligent father? She could see it as clear as day - her sons, ebony haired and dark eyed, a new generation of Oxford men, wrestling over a thesis on the advancement of economics in the 21st century. 

Maybe she would have daughters. Young girls in dark jewel dresses to show the wonders of the great swath of Earth to. Curly locks she would brush every morning, thirst for knowledge she would quench. Bellatrix longed to see the smiling faces of her sisters in her future darling progeny, a picture perfect Black smile gracing their features.

She wanted to see her sisters hold her children. To have her nieces and nephews and sons and daughters playing on the fresh fields of Black Manor. To have her family together, extended, accomplished, happy. 

Her hopes were attainable, she realized. Her dreams were in her grasp the same way her father had held his future in his grip and his father before him. 

And it was then, at that moment, when the old gun in Rabastan’s hand fired.

And it was then, at that moment, when her beloved Rodolphus stumbled back and onto that bright green grass.

The next minutes weren’t in slow motion. They weren’t rushed bits of cinema she could skip over until she found something more palatable. Time marched on as it always did as Corban Yaxley screamed for an ambulance. As Rabastan choked out a mangled sob, kneeled down next to his brother and pressing his handkerchief against the wide 12 - gauge hole in the side of his dear brother’s head. As Bellatrix rushed to help him, weeping over her fiancé’s glazed eyes.

Rabastan checked his breathing and pulse, both of which were long gone. 

"He's dead, Bella."

And she laughed, fingers coated in blood. She laughed and laughed until her lungs burned in anguish and only then did her body allow her the privilege of heaving bile next to Rodolphus’s quickly cooling corpse.

**Author's Note:**

> hi fuck ionno when ill update this lol


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